Mr Monk and the What If
by Ta1u1a
Summary: AU Fic. What if Trudy had lived? What would Monk be like? And would he still know Sharona? COMPLETE
1. One

A/N: This is a bizarre twist of a story I thought up. I guess it's not that bizarre. I'm sure all of us have wondered what Monk would be like if Trudy was alive. So, here it is. It also gives Monk and Sharona an alternate way to meet. I hope you like it.

DISCLAIMER: I never claimed to be a medical expert so some of the medical stuff might be kind of off. Deal with it. :o)

Adrian Monk scrubbed the pots and pans leftover from the dinner that his wife Trudy had cooked. It was his favorite—roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans. He was a traditionalist at heart. He loved a good home cooked meal. He wasn't into trying different things. Trudy had once asked him to order Cantonese. He ended up making himself a turkey sandwich while she enjoyed the foreign fare. She just smiled and shook her head at her husband, set in his ways.

"Honey, leave the dishes for later," she called from the living room sofa. "You're going to miss the movie."

One of the commonalities the two of them shared was their love of classic movies. Monk was a fan of classics. Classic cars, classic movies, classic meals. Trudy teased him about living in the past, but in truth it was one of the main things she loved about him.

"But they'll get crusty," he said. He was always a clean man. Most people would call him a neat freak. Trudy called him particular.

"They'll be fine," she said. She patted the sofa next to her. "I saved you a seat."

He smiled and wiped his hands on a dishtowel, forgetting the dishes momentarily. He sat and wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her close to him.

"So, what is it tonight?" he asked, referring to the movie.

"Casablanca," Trudy replied with a smile. The movie channel played a few clips from the movie to introduce it. A shot of Humphrey Bogart in his trench coat and fedora flashed on the screen. "Hey, why don't you wear a trench coat and fedora?"

"I tried, but Captain Stottlemeyer said it looked ridiculous and told me to take it off," he joked. 

Trudy smiled and then sighed wistfully. "Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to live back then?"

"I have before," he replied. "Sometimes I think it would be so much simpler. But the movies don't really paint a realistic picture. At least the old movies don't."

"That's why I love them," Trudy commented. "Who wants to watch reality when you're living it?"

Monk chuckled and squeezed her shoulders. "I don't."

* * *

The night shift was Sharona's favorite shift. It worked out well with the way her life worked. She worked it for six months. They were school months, and it was perfect. She got off her shift at 6:30 a.m. Then she would go home, get her son, Benjy, off to school, come home and sleep. Then she picked up Benjy, ran some errands and they spent the evening working on his homework, eating dinner and just spending time together. Then she went to start her shift at 9 p.m., her sister, Gail, showing up for the night just in time for Benjy to go to bed. It worked out perfectly.

She made her rounds on the second floor of the hospital, reading charts and doling out medication as indicated by the patients' doctors. Most of the patients didn't even know she was there. Just about all of them. Except for Mr. Vernon. It seemed like that old man never slept, and he always gave Sharona a hard time. He was one of her most difficult patients. She saw that tonight Dr. Morgan had prescribed some medication to help Mr. Vernon sleep. She smiled, hoping it would be a quiet night.

"How are you tonight, Mr. Vernon?" she asked, forcing a polite smile towards him. The old man growled.

"Damn hip is killing me sitting in this bed," he grumbled. "You people don't give me enough for the pain."

"Any more morphine and you wouldn't have to worry about your hip killing you," Sharona said with a smirk.

"Is that a threat, girlie?" he asked. Sharona shook her head.

"Just a statement, Mr. Vernon," she said. She looked at the chart for the prescription, pulled out a bottle and syringe and started filling the syringe.

"What's that?" he asked, staring at her suspiciously. "What are you giving me?"

"It's to help you sleep," Sharona replied sharply. "Dr. Morgan prescribed it."

"That quack?" he asked. "I don't know if I want him giving me anything to help me sleep."

"Who are you calling a quack?" Sharona asked. Mr. Vernon shot her a look and shook his head.  She inserted the syringe into Mr. Vernon's IV. "I thought you liked Dr. Morgan."

"As much as I like any doctor, which doesn't say much," he said gruffly. He pointed down toward the end of the bed. "Get me my newspaper."

She looked to where he was pointing and saw his newspaper sitting on the floor across the room. She retrieved it and tossed it on his bed table. "What the hell's it doing over there?"

"I threw it at the television," he said. "Damn news pissed me off."

"Everything pisses you off," Sharona responded. She threw the empty syringe in the medical wastebasket and returned to check Mr. Vernon's vitals.

"Watch it, girlie, or you're going to piss me off."

"Are you gonna throw your newspaper at me?" she asked sarcastically. Mr. Vernon rolled up the paper and shook it at her threateningly. She shook her head and walked out of the room. "Goodnight, Mr. Vernon."

When Sharona got out to the nurses' station, her fellow nurse, Whitney Harmon, shook her head and laughed. "How do you put up with it?"

"I don't know. That's gotta be the grumpiest old fart I've ever met. I swear, some nights I just want to…" she said, trailing off and holding her hands up in a strangling motion.

"Hang in there, girl," Whitney said. "That old fart is checking out of this hotel in a couple days."

"Maybe I should host a party," Sharona joked. She plopped down in the chair next to Whitney and got ready to settle in for the rest of her shift.

* * *

Monk meticulously clicked away at the keyboard of his computer, typing up a report for a recent case. It was a multiple homicide and he had just discovered the damning evidence that got the arrest warrant for a lawyer who murdered his wife and two daughters in an attempt at insurance fraud. The murderer certainly knew his way around the law, but he didn't know his way around leaving evidence.

His partner Lieutenant Randy Disher sat at a neighboring desk, working on his own report. Unlike Monk he didn't get to solve the case much. Monk was one step ahead of everybody, usually including the suspect. Part of Randy found pride in being partnered with the greatest detective in the city of San Francisco. Another part of him resented the fact that he was living in Monk's shadow.

"Monk. Disher." Captain Stottlemeyer approached them holding a slip of paper. "I need you two at San Francisco Memorial Hospital."

"What's the case?" Disher asked, jumping up from his seat, a little too eager to get going on a new case.

"Mitchell Vernon. Sixty-five. In the hospital for hip surgery. Died last night of a morphine overdose."

"That's malpractice, not homicide," Monk said skeptically.

"Maybe, but we're looking into it," Stottlemeyer said. He handed the slip of paper to Disher. "You're looking into it."

Stottlemeyer walked away and Disher turned to Monk with a smile. "I'll drive."

* * *

"He crashed this morning right after I came on my shift," Nurse Donna Davis explained to Monk and Disher.  "Blood tests turned up with an overdose of morphine. Three times more than any doctor would prescribe. We did everything we could for him, but with that much morphine your heart just doesn't wanna pump anymore. It's like when you flood your car engine. It doesn't wanna run."

"Would it be possible for a nurse or doctor to accidentally give Mr. Vernon that much morphine?" Monk asked.

"Anything's possible. But I doubt this was an accident. When you're filling a syringe you can tell when it's too much," she replied.

'Thank you," Disher said as Monk turned away. "If we have any more questions, we'll call you."

Nurse Davis nodded her head and went back to her duties. Disher followed Monk into the hospital room, which was marked off with police tape. Monk just walked slowly through the room, taking everything in. Disher waited, knowing that this was Monk's usual process. He took everything in. He recorded the scene in his mind, taking in every detail and scrap of possible evidence. Then he turned.

"Do you think it's homicide or malpractice?" Monk asked. Disher shrugged his shoulders.

"Would we really be here if it was malpractice?"

"I suppose we wouldn't. Now who are our suspects?"

"Nobody has been up here except hospital staff," Disher replied. He flipped through his notepad. "We've got a list of the nurses on night and day duty, as well as orderlies and on-call doctors."

"We should start with the nurses," Monk said. "They're least likely to draw suspicion moving in and out of rooms at all hours, and they have access to medication. What about forensics?"

"Medical waste was taken into evidence. Room's been dusted. We're working on print matches."

"Who are the night nurses?"

"Uh…Whitney Harmon and Sharona Fleming," Disher read off his list. Monk started to walk out of the room, speaking as he walked.

"We'll go alphabetical. Start with Fleming."


	2. Two

She slammed her car door shut and headed toward the front door of her house. She had just dropped her son off at school and finished some errands, and she was more than ready to crash in bed. It had been a long night at the hospital, and all she wanted was her head on a pillow. She paused when someone called her name.

"Sharona Fleming," Disher called after her. She turned and saw the two men approaching her. She knew enough cops to know they were cops. Detectives, out of uniform.

"That's me," she said. "What can I do for two policemen at…" She looked at her watch. "…8:30 in the morning?"

"How did you know we were policemen?" Monk asked, his brilliant mind even baffled by her apparent lucky guess.

"You've got that look," she said. "The suits, the car. It all screams police." She pointed at Disher. "Plus, your badge is on your belt."

The two of them smiled as Disher glanced down at his badge. Monk introduced them. "I'm Inspector Monk. This is Inspector Disher. We're with the San Francisco PD, homicide."

"We'd like to ask you some questions," Disher added.

"About what?"

"Mitchell Vernon," Monk replied. "He died about two hours ago of a morphine overdose."

"What? Impossible," Sharona said, shocked. She didn't like the guy, but she was still surprised that he was dead. He struck her as the type who would outlive everyone.

"Apparently it's not impossible," Disher replied. "Can we come in?"

Sharona shook away her daze and turned. "Uh, sure. Come on."

She led them into her house and gestured to the sofa in the living room. "Have a seat." Then she went into the kitchen. There was coffee that Gail had made for herself still sitting in the coffee pot. Sharona cringed. She knew from experience that Gail's coffee wasn't suitable to give to anybody other than…well, Gail.

"Can I get either of you anything to drink?" she asked, hoping they wouldn't say coffee. She noticed Monk was looking around the disarray of her living room in disgust. With her career and her son, she didn't have much time for cleaning. "Sorry about the mess," she said sheepishly.

"Uh, that's okay," Monk replied. "And no thanks on the drink. Hopefully we won't be long."

Sharona returned to the living room with her own glass of juice and sat in an armchair opposite the sofa.

"What time did you leave the hospital, Ms. Fleming?" Disher asked, pulling out his notepad and pen.

"Please, call me Sharona. And my shift ends at 6:30, but I wasn't out till 6:45. Got held up with a patient."

"Do you recall the name of the patient?" Monk asked.

"Uh…it was room 12 East, a new patient," she said, working her memory. There were so many patients it was hard to keep track of names sometimes. Finally it came to her. "Nick Parks. He had knee surgery."

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Vernon?" Disher asked.

"I think I checked in on him last at 5:30. He was asleep finally."

"Finally? Did he have trouble sleeping?" Monk inquired.

Sharona nodded her head. "Seems like every night since he was there he couldn't sleep. I think one of his kids said he was a chronic insomniac. He seemed to always be awake on my shift, and he would complain non-stop."

"Sounds like he was a difficult patient." Disher was fishing now. Any dislike for Mr. Vernon could lead to motive.

"Understatement of the year," Sharona said with a smirk. "He always gave me a hard time. It's like his mission in life was to piss people off, or maybe just me."

"Did he succeed?" Monk prodded. Sharona saw the looks on their faces and laughed.

"Oh please, if I were in the habit of killing patients because they were difficult or they pissed me off you'd have a lot more dead patients on your hands," she said. "Fifty percent of the time our patients hate us. People hate hospitals and they hate doctors and nurses right along with it."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Disher asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Not really. I would hate me if I was in the hospital, too. It's part of the job."

"Do you know of anybody else who didn't like Mr. Vernon?" Monk asked, moving away from suspecting Sharona. She wasn't totally in the clear, but she didn't seem like the killing type to him.

"Not really," she said. "On the night shift there aren't any visitors there for me to see. It's basically just nurses and patients and orderlies. Sometimes doctors will come around, but they're usually busy with more important things on the night shift."

"Did he mention anybody to you that might want to hurt him?" Monk continued.

"I got the impression he wasn't on good terms with his son. Complained about him being a worthless bum a lot."

"Did he mention anything more specific?" Monk noted the 'worthless bum' bit for when he met Mr. Vernon's son. That was certainly important.

"No, not really."

"Were you the only nurse to deal with Mr. Vernon while he was there?" Disher asked.

"On night shift, yeah. There's only two of us on nights right now. Me and Whitney," she explained. "I do the east wing and she does the west."

"Did you see anybody else go into Mr. Vernon's room during your shift?" Monk asked.

"There was an orderly who went in at about five in the morning," she replied. "I think he was a new guy. I didn't recognize him."

"All right, well I think that's all we need for now, Sharona," Monk said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small card with his name and number on it. He handed it to her. "If you think of anything else that might help, give us a call."

"Sure," she said. "Good luck."

Monk and Disher let themselves out and headed back out to their car. Disher pocketed his notepad.

"So, she's on our suspect list," he commented.

"For now," Monk said reluctantly. He had seen the pictures of Sharona with her son in the living room, and he truly hoped she would be off their suspect list quickly. "We also need to find out who that new orderly is who went into Vernon's room at five in the morning."

"If he even exists," Disher shot back. "She might have made him up."

"Don't pick your suspect too soon, Randy," Monk scolded. Disher just shrugged his shoulders as they got in the car, with Monk still hoping to find a different suspect.

* * *

Monk felt it would be more efficient to split up after they had spoken to Sharona. Disher went to question the other night nurse while Monk went to speak to Vernon's daughter. After that they would meet to speak to Vernon's son, the one Sharona had mentioned as the "worthless bum."

Kathleen Vernon Shaw lived in an old Victorian manor that was in the process of being restored. Workers were currently pulling off the roof shingles and tossing them down to the yard. Monk carefully walked off to the side, trying to avoid being hit by a falling shingle as he walked to the front door.

She opened the door and Monk could instantly tell that she must not be much like her brother, if what Sharona had said was true. Her cheeks were flushed, making it apparent that she had been crying. She had had at least some sort of relationship with her father.

"Mrs. Shaw?" She nodded her head, and he pulled out his badge. "My name is Adrian Monk. I'm a homicide inspector with the San Francisco Police Department.  I'm investigating your father's death. I understand this is a hard time for you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

She nodded her head and stepped aside, still not uttering a word. Monk followed her into the living room where a man Monk assumed was her husband sat. The man stood to greet Monk.

"I assume you're Mr. Shaw?" he asked. 

The man nodded his head.  "You can call me Michael."

"I'm Adrian Monk. I'm a homicide inspector, and I'm investigating your father-in-law's death."

"Homicide?" Michael asked, gesturing for Monk to sit in a nearby armchair. He and his wife sat on a sofa directly across from Monk.  "So, you think it wasn't just malpractice?"

"It's not completely ruled out, but this does appear to be a murder," Monk said. He noticed Kathleen was watching him intently. Apparently Michael noticed Monk's confused look.

"She's staring because she's a deaf-mute, Inspector," he said with an apologetic smile. "I should have told you up front. She's reading your lips."

"Oh, I see," he said, starting to be more conscious about enunciating clearly. "Were you very close to your father, Mrs. Shaw?"

She nodded her head and began signing. Her husband shifted a little so he could interpret the signs for Monk.

"Dad and I were extremely close. I'm a stereotypical daddy's girl. Everybody would say that when they met us."

"Are you close to your brother?"

"Not really. We talk occasionally and send cards on birthdays and holidays. But that's about it."

"I've been told that your father also wasn't very close to him either," Monk said.

"Yes, Richard and dad never got along. Richard moved out of the house as soon as he got the chance," she signed, with her husband interpreting.

"Is there a particular reason that the two of them didn't get along?"

"Dad didn't like Richard because he felt he never truly worked for what he got. Richard didn't like dad because he felt he was always too hard on him." She paused for a moment and then continued signing. "I guess they were both right. I think dad expected too much from Richard."

"What does Richard do for a living?"

"He doesn't do anything." Monk raised an eyebrow, and she just shook her head. Michael continued to explain on his own.

"Richard married a rich divorcee who died two years ago and left him as a rich widower," he said. "That was the last straw for Mitch. He sometimes half-seriously thought Rich caused his wife's heart attack. But the doctors confirmed that Karen's heart attack was natural. He became rich out of no work of his own."

"Did your father mention anything out of the ordinary about his stay in the hospital? Or perhaps anything about the hospital staff?"

"He talked about a nurse on the night shift a lot. I think her name's Sharon or something," Michael replied.

"Sharona?" Monk offered. Both of them nodded. "What did he say about her?"

"He said he liked her," Kathleen signed. "He said she was his favorite nurse."

"Really? I was under the impression that the two of them didn't get along," Monk said. "He gave her a hard time."

"That was his way of showing affection," Kathleen replied. "If he didn't like someone, he wouldn't talk to them at all. If he gave her a hard time, she was definitely in his good graces."

"I don't think she realized that," Monk said with a smile. "Do you know of anyone who would want your father dead?"

"Not really. I mean, Richard hated him, but I don't see Richard being a killer," she replied. "He's not ambitious enough for that."

Monk stood, and Michael stood with him to show him out. "I think that's all I have for now." He pulled out one of his cards. "If you think of anything that might be important, please call me."

Kathleen stayed in the living room as Monk and Michael walked to the door. They paused for a moment in the doorway.

"Kathleen loved her father. As it is, she's already consulted a lawyer about malpractice lawsuits. If somebody murdered Mitch, you must find that person."

"I'll do everything I can," Monk replied, as sincere as he was meticulous. Michael nodded his head and shut the door. As he walked down the porch steps, some dust and roofing particles landed on his shoulder. He looked up to see one of the workers up there about to throw some old shingles down to a dumpster.

"Heads up!" the worker called. Monk quickly walked down to his car, repeatedly brushing at his shoulder to get all the dust off. Once he was satisfied that all the dust was gone he got into his car and sat there for a moment.

He thought about the suspects. His bet was on Richard Vernon. His motive was strong, but he didn't have the means. Disher suspected Sharona. She had the means, but to Monk her motive wasn't as strong. Immediately a new question crossed his mind. Did Richard Vernon and Sharona Fleming know each other? That was certainly a question he would ask when he spoke to Richard Vernon. He started the car and drove off to meet his partner to question the son Mitchell Vernon apparently wished he never had.


	3. Three

Monk found Disher ordering a hot dog at a food vendor across the street from the police department. As Monk approached Disher nodded a hello.

"Want one?" he asked, his mouth full of hot dog. Monk cringed.

"No thank you," Monk replied. "Did you find out anything significant from the other night nurse?"

"Just what we already know. Sharona didn't get along with Vernon," Disher replied. "What about his daughter?"

"She confirmed what Sharona said about Vernon not getting along with his son," Monk said.  "He's definitely worth talking to."

"The results are in from the lab on the medical waste and the prints. As well as the autopsy report," Disher said. "Should we check that out first?"

Monk nodded his head and the two of them headed inside. The results from the lab and the autopsy were waiting on Monk's desk. Disher picked the folder up and looked at it.

"The morphine was injected directly into a vein in his arm with a syringe found in the medical waste," he read from the report. An enthusiastic smile lit up his face. "Prints on the syringe match those of Sharona Fleming."

"Couldn't it have been a different syringe?" Monk asked, a look of disbelief filling his eyes.

"It was the only one in medical waste and it had Vernon's blood on it," Disher explained.

"It doesn't make sense," Monk said. Every instinct he had was telling Sharona wasn't the killer. "Why wouldn't she use the IV to inject the morphine?"

"Going directly to the vein works faster," Disher said. "The IV would take too long."

"Still, she's worked in that hospital for 6 years. Certainly she's had more difficult patients than Mitchell Vernon," Monk said. Disher shook his head.

"Why can't you just see what's simple?" Disher asked. For once he was right, and he wasn't going to let Monk talk him out of it. "Sharona Fleming's prints are on the murder weapon. What other explanation is there for that?"

As skeptical as he was, Monk couldn't deny evidence. He could never deny evidence. Usually he found it, from the obvious to the obscure. And the evidence always led to the truth. But he didn't want to believe it. Before he could say anything else, Captain Stottlemeyer approached them.

"Is that the evidence report?" he asked. Disher nodded his head.

"And we've got a match for the prints on the syringe used to give Vernon the morphine," Disher said. He paused, for what he believed was dramatic effect. He tended to do it when sharing big news. Stottlemeyer shook his head and sighed in frustration.

"Who, Randy?" he asked sharply.

"Sharona Fleming. She's a night nurse at the hospital. She admitted to not getting along with Mr. Vernon."

"And we're certain that they're her prints and that syringe is the one that was used to inject the morphine?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"Got the prints from her employment file, and the blood on the needle matches Vernon's," Disher continued.

"What about you Monk? What do you say about this?"

Monk thought for a moment and shook his head. "We can't deny the evidence."

Stottlemeyer took that as an endorsement from his star inspector. "Pick her up and bring her in. I'll get a warrant from Judge Wallace by the time you get her to the station."

* * *

Sharona got out of the car, slamming the door angrily. Benjy got out of the passenger side, hanging his head. He, of course, was the reason his mother was angry. She stopped by the front right fender, glared at him and pointed to the door.

"Get in the house. Now!"

He moved quickly and she followed. She wasn't exactly pleased, having picked him up from school early. He had been suspended for a day for fighting. Once inside she slammed the front door. He was on his way to his room when she called after him.

"Hold it right there, mister," she said sharply. He stopped and turned, looking at her through one good eye and one swollen one. "Sit down."

Benjy sat on the living room sofa while she walked into the kitchen and retrieved an ice pack from the freezer. She returned and handed it to him and then paced in front of him, one hand on her hip and the other massaging her throbbing temples.

"What have I told you about fighting? How many times have I told you that I do not tolerate fighting?" she asked. He didn't answer. "What were you thinking? Huh?" He looked down at the floor, not sure what to say. She laughed in frustration and shook her head. "You know, forget it. Go to your room. You're grounded for a month. No television, no video games, no friends outside of school unless I need you to stay at their house."

There was a knock at the door and Sharona went to answer it. She pointed down the hallway toward the bedrooms. "Go work on your schoolwork."

He picked up his book bag and was about to head down the hallway as she opened the door, but he stopped out of curiosity to see who it was.

"You're back," Sharona said. "Did you have more questions?"

"No, Ms. Fleming," Disher said. He pulled out his handcuffs. 

"You're under arrest for the murder of Mitchell Vernon," Monk said reluctantly. Sharona backed up a little as Disher tried to take her arm to cuff her.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Mom?" Ben said, stepping forward into view. "What's going on?"

"Ms. Fleming it would be best if you cooperate," Disher said, holding up the handcuffs.

"I don't understand," she said in shock. She didn't resist as Disher grabbed her left arm and began locking the cuffs around her wrists. "I didn't murder anybody."

"Murder? Mom?"

"You have the right to remain silent," Monk said, reluctantly beginning to read her the Miranda warning. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed by the court. Do you understand your rights, Ms. Fleming?"

"Yeah," she said and then quickly turned to Benjy as Disher led her toward the door. "Benjy, go to Brian's house and call your Aunt Gail. Tell her what's happened."

"What's going on, mom?" Benjy asked, completely confused as to why his mother was being led off in handcuffs.

"It's going to be okay," she said, not answering him. "Just do as I say."

Benjy followed them out door and watched as Disher led Sharona to the car and held her head down as she got in the back. Monk looked back to Benjy sympathetically. They made eye contact and Monk couldn't hide his regret. He watched as Benjy hurried next door to call his aunt, and then he got in the car to escort Sharona to the police station.

* * *

Sharona sat in the interrogation room, her head resting in her hands, which were cuffed in front of her now. The metal clattered as she dropped her hands to the table.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she asked angrily. "I didn't murder Mr. Vernon."

"How do you explain your prints on the murder weapon?" Disher asked. He was standing across the table from her, his arms folded across his chest. 

"I used it to give Mr. Vernon sleep medication that was prescribed by Dr. Morgan," she explained. Disher looked skeptical. Monk was pensive.

"Did anybody witness you doing this?" Monk asked.

"Only Mr. Vernon," she said, her voice filled with frustration. There was a brief pause. "I'm a nurse. I use syringes. Of course my prints are going to be on one. How does that make me a murderer?"

"Vernon's blood was on the needle," Disher replied. "How do you explain that?"

"Impossible," she replied, confused. "I injected the sleep medication through his IV. That needle never touched his skin."

"Why don't you start telling us the truth?" Disher asked angrily.

"That is the truth!" Sharona exclaimed. She leaned back in her chair and glared at him. "If you're not going to believe me, there's no point in talking to you."

"Do you understand just how serious this is?" Disher asked, leaning on the table and making eye contact with her. "The evidence was good enough to get a warrant. It'll be good enough to get a conviction."

"You know, you really aren't good at this bad cop thing," she said. Her dig got Disher to back up and return to standing with his arms folded across his chest. "I'm through talking. I want my lawyer."

Disher glared at her, not moving an inch until Monk grabbed his arm. "Come on, Randy. Let's go."

As they left Sharona sat forward again, resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes. She didn't know how this could be possible. How could anybody suspect her of murder? Sure, she wasn't an angel. She had even committed a federal crime once. She had stolen a car when she was sixteen. But she wasn't a murderer. Things had changed since she was sixteen. She had been married and divorced. She had a career. She had a son.

_God, I can't lose him,_ she thought, wondering what would happen to Benjy if she was convicted. Would he stay with her sister or her mother? Would the government shuttle him off into foster care? She was so worried about Benjy that the thought didn't even enter her mind that she might not be convicted at trial. She wondered if he was confused or scared or just worried. She hoped that he wasn't being fed bogus stories about her. The last thing she wanted was for her son to think she was a murderer. She didn't care what other people thought. The only one that mattered to her was him.

* * *

Sharona was moved to a different room without an observation mirror and her handcuffs were removed. She sat and waited for twenty minutes before a man in a suit walked in and sat across the table from her. He appeared to be in his late thirties with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a year-round tan. He had a medium, athletic build, and it was obvious that he exercised regularly.  His suit looked extremely expensive, perhaps Armani, and his deep blue silk tie was tied in a loose knot at his neck. He offered her a sympathetic smile, and Sharona knew under other circumstances she would have been flirting with him in two seconds, after noticing no wedding ring on his left hand. But she didn't have time for flirting now.

"Ms. Fleming, my name is Maxwell Roberts. I'm a criminal defense attorney," he introduced himself. "Your sister, Gail, is a friend of one of my colleagues."

"From the looks of that suit, your services don't come cheap," Sharona said flatly. "I'm a single mother, Mr. Roberts. I can't afford an expensive defense attorney."

"My colleague's exact words I believe were, 'I owe Gail a huge favor. This one's on me,'" he responded with a smirk. "You don't have to worry about money. The only thing you have to worry about is your defense, Ms. Fleming."

"Call me Sharona," she said, unable to stop a wry smile from curling on her lips. Leave it to Gail to curry favor with lawyers. She made a mental note to buy Gail a present if she wasn't convicted.

"Sharona it is," he said. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file folder. "Just to go over the basics before we start, everything you say to me is confidential under attorney-client privilege. I cannot be forced to reveal anything you say here." He pulled out a pen and notepad next, ready to get every detail of Sharona's side of the story. "So, let's start from the beginning of your shift at the hospital last night."

"I came on and made my first rounds at about 9:30 to give out medication. Mr. Vernon was my last stop on my rounds. I gave him a sleeping aid through his IV, and then I went to the nurse's station just down the hall," she explained.

"Mr. Vernon was awake when you were in his room at that time?" Maxwell asked, taking notes on his notepad.

"Yeah, he was."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He told me his hip hurt from sitting in bed all day and that we weren't giving him enough morphine," she recalled.

"And what did you say to that?"

"I, uh, told him anymore morphine would kill him." She watched him nod his head and take notes, wondering what he was thinking. Obviously the last thing she had told him didn't sound good.

"What else did he say?"

"He said he didn't like Dr. Morgan. He called him a quack. Then he asked me to go get his newspaper, which he had thrown across the room at the television earlier in the day," she explained. "He said that the television pissed him off. I said everything pissed him off. He threatened to throw his newspaper at me, and I left the room."

"When did you next go to check on him?"

"About midnight," she replied. "He was asleep. I checked on him two more times at 3 a.m. and 5:30. He was asleep both those times, too."

"What did you do when you checked on him?"

"I just checked his vitals. As long as he was asleep there wasn't much to do," she explained.

"And you never gave him morphine on your shift?"

"None," she replied. "I don't know how that needle got his blood on it."

"Okay," Maxwell said. "Your arraignment is tomorrow. You'll plead 'not guilty' I'm assuming." He made eye contact and she nodded her head. "Okay. If the judge allows bail, I can hook you up with a bail bondsman so you can be out of jail during the trial."

"Can I talk to my son?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Maxwell explained. He put his things back in his briefcase and closed it. "You're not allowed visitors before the arraignment. I can take a message to him, if you'd like."

"Uh, just tell him…that I love him and not to worry," she said quietly, upset that she wouldn't be able to even talk to Benjy. Maxwell stood, ready to head back to his office to work on the case. He noticed the dejected look on Sharona's face, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him.

"Sharona, I'm very good at what I do," he said. "The evidence they have may be enough to arrest you, but it won't be enough to convict." She nodded her head and forced a small smile. "I'm going back to the office to work on getting ready for the arraignment. Don't talk to anyone about the case. Not the police, not anyone else in the jail. Nobody. I'll see you tomorrow."

Maxwell left and moments later an officer came in, cuffed Sharona and led her to the prison where she would be spending her first night as a suspected murderer.


	4. Four

He sat in the living room with the case file, his notes and photographs scattered on the coffee table. In the kitchen, Trudy was finishing up with making dinner. Every few minutes she would look out from the kitchen, concern filling her eyes. Monk often brought work home with him, but this case was affecting him. On the surface it was open and shut, but she could see that he believed it went deeper than the surface. She placed the chicken on the table and walked into the living room, sitting on his left and wrapping her arm around him.

"Dinner's ready," she whispered in his ear. His eyes didn't leave his work.

"I think I've put a woman in jail who doesn't belong there," he said guiltily.

"You said her prints were on the syringe," Trudy commented. He nodded his head.

"It just doesn't feel right," he said. "Her motive isn't strong enough. Why would a nurse who has surely had hundreds of difficult patients suddenly start killing them?"

"Maybe she snapped," Trudy suggested. "Maybe this was the last straw."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That wasn't a woman who snapped. That was a woman who cares about other people, a woman who cares about her patients. She wouldn't kill them."

"How can you be so sure?" Trudy asked.

"You know me," he said with a smirk. "I can't explain how. I'm just sure."

"Well, if she's innocent, you'll find a way to clear her name. You'll find the truth," Trudy said, rubbing his back. "You always do."

* * *

At nine in the morning, Monk entered the county courthouse and headed for courtroom 13. When he walked in, he saw Disher on the prosecutor's side of the room. Sharona's son and a woman in her late twenties—who he assumed was Sharona's sister, Gail—sat behind the defense table. There were a couple people Monk recognized as reporters. Then he saw Michael and Kathleen Shaw sitting a row behind Disher. In the last row behind the prosecution was a man Monk didn't recognize. He didn't look like a reporter.

Monk took a seat next to Disher just as a side door to the courtroom opened and Sharona was escorted in by a guard. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit, the kind always supplied by the state correctional system to new prisoners. Her hands were cuffed in front of her. Immediately her gaze went to her son as she was led to the table where her defense attorney was seated. The guard didn't remove the handcuffs. Moments later, the judge entered and everybody stood as the bailiff announced the arrival of the Honorable Judge Wallace.

"Maxwell Roberts for the defendant, Your Honor. Waive reading and enter a plea of not guilty," Maxwell said, standing and stepping forward. The prosecutor also stepped forward.

"The state opposes bail. The evidence suggests that this woman has no regard for others and certainly could kill again," the prosecutor said.

"If she's killed once, Mr. Norton," Judge Wallace commented. "She hasn't been convicted yet. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"My client poses no flight risk. She has a twelve-year-old son, who she's very devoted to," Maxwell said gesturing behind him to Benjy.  "She has no intention of leaving the country, or even the city for that matter. She wants to prove her innocence."

The judge looked from Maxwell to Sharona to Benjy. "Bail is set at 1 million dollars," he said. He didn't notice and didn't care as Sharona's eyes widened and she gasped in shock.  "Trial starts Monday at 10 a.m. Next case."

The bailiff began introducing the next case on the agenda as Maxwell went back to talk to Sharona. She stood. On the other side of the railing Benjy and Gail stood as well.

"One million dollars!" she exclaimed frantically. "I don't have one million dollars."

"Look, I told you. I'll set you up with a bail bondsman," Maxwell explained. The guard approached. "You'll just need some collateral. Something big."

"The most valuable thing I own is my car, and it's just a crappy old Volvo," she said in frustration. "I don't have anything worth enough."

"We'll figure something out, sis," Gail said. "We'll get you out."

"It'll be okay, mom," Benjy said. She looked down to him and managed a smile. She ran her hand through his hair and then kissed him on the forehead. The guard grabbed Sharona by the elbow.

"Let's go, Fleming," he said. She reluctantly went with him, not losing eye contact with her son until she was out the door.

Monk watched all of this, Disher standing beside him. He watched Sharona panic about the bail, and he watched her kiss her son. He saw the look in her eyes when Benjy told her it would be okay. And he knew. He knew he had to find the real killer and prove Sharona's innocence. He had to save her.

* * *

"I don't see the point," Disher said as the two of them walked up to the apartment of Richard Vernon. Monk had insisted on going to question him, even though they had Sharona in jail for the murder.

"He may have more information about his father and Sharona Fleming," Monk said, really wanting to question Richard to see if he could be the killer. 'We're going to question him for that information."

"Isn't that the D.A.'s job now?" Disher asked. He knocked three times on the door to Richard's apartment.

When the door opened they were greeted by a man in his mid to late forties. He had dark brown hair, was tall and muscular. His face was tan, square and his eyes were deeply set. Monk recognized him from the courtroom earlier in the day. He was the man that he hadn't recognized.

Monk pulled out his badge and began the introductions, "I'm Adrian Monk and this is Randy Disher, my partner. We're homicide inspectors investigating the murder of Mitchell Vernon. I assume you're Richard Vernon."

"In the flesh," Richard said with a small smile. "Come on in. Mi casa es su casa."

The apartment was certainly nice, and was even more spacious. It was a loft apartment. Hardwood floors, expensive furniture, and a high tech entertainment system made it the perfect bachelor pad. There weren't many decorations other than a couple pieces of modern art. Monk and Disher sat on the black leather sofa in the living room and Richard sat in the matching recliner.

"So, I guess you want to ask me some questions about dear old dad," Richard said sarcastically. "Kathy said you talked to her already."

"Yes," Monk said. "She mentioned you weren't very close to your father."

Richard laughed deeply at that statement. When he stopped he noticed the serious looks on their faces. "Sorry. It's just that sentence was a little bit of an understatement. I haven't talked to dad in five years. If I needed to tell him anything, I would tell Kathy, and vice versa."

"Is there any particular reason you didn't get along?" Monk questioned. He leaned forward on his knees, intent on memorizing every word that escaped Richard Vernon's lips.

"Lots of reasons. He thought I was a deadbeat. I thought he was a tyrant," Richard said. "Oil and water."

"Your sister mentioned that your father felt you married your late wife because of her money," Monk said. "Excuse me for asking, but is there any truth to that at all?"

"Kathy tended to take dad's side when it came to Karen," Richard said, skirting the question. "They just couldn't believe that I would truly love a woman ten years older than me who just happened to be rich. But I loved Karen more than life itself, and I know she felt the same way about me. I don't know how they could even think I caused her heart attack."

Monk could hear both sadness and resentment when talking about his wife. Disher took over the questioning.

"What about the money? You obviously inherited, right? Why live in this apartment instead of a house?"

"Karen loved me, but her fortune was and always will be handled by trustees," Richard explained. "She got a monthly allowance, and so do I. Granted it is a very comfortable sum, but I won't be living in any expensive mansions in this lifetime unless I make my own fortune."

"So, how do you spend your time?" Monk asked.

"I was a programmer before I met Karen," he replied. He gestured to a large L-shaped desk on the other end of the room. On one side it had a desktop pc monitor and on the otherside there was a laptop. The desktop pc's hard drive was under the desk. He had plenty of other computer accessories. It was a very elaborate setup. "Did IT support for an investment firm for a while. But after I married Karen I quit working. I still do some free-lance work just for the hell of it."

"Have you ever met a woman named Sharona Fleming?" Disher asked, glancing at Monk. He wasn't quite sure what Richard's personal life had to do with Sharona. Richard shook his head to Disher's question.

"No. I never visited dad in the hospital so I never met her," he said. "Although I saw her in the courtroom today. I can sympathize with anybody who had to deal with my dad on a daily basis, but she didn't really strike me as a killer when I saw her." He shifted in his seat. "Do you really think she did this?"

"She is our prime suspect," Disher replied. "Did your sister mention Sharona to you?"

"Nope. Today was the first time I've talked to Kathy for a couple months. Dad wasn't in the hospital then."

"What about your sister? She said she was extremely close to your father," Monk said. "Has she always been that close to him?"

"No, not until she was sixteen," Richard said. There was a bitter tone to his voice.

"Why not until then? What changed when she was sixteen?" Monk asked.

Richard hesitated, stood and walked to the kitchen. "She was mugged, raped and severely beaten." In the kitchen he pulled a bottle of scotch out of a cupboard and poured himself a glass. "Nearly died. That's how she became a deaf-mute. Brain damage." He gulped down the scotch in one swallow.

For some reason, Monk didn't believe that story. He looked at Disher, not surprised that he did believe it. "Did they ever catch who did that to her?"

"No," Richard said sharply.

"That must have been very traumatic for all of you," Monk commented.

Richard scoffed. "Yeah, it was. Dad sent Kathy to a shrink. She's repressed everything about the attack. All she knows about it is what we've told her. She still doesn't remember any of it."

"Who's her psychiatrist?" Monk asked. He pulled out a notepad to take down a name and hopefully a phone number.

"If you've talked to Kathy, you've already met him," Richard said. "Her husband is her psychiatrist."

"Michael Shaw?" Monk asked, surprised. "But if she started seeing him when she was sixteen…"

"He ages well, inspector," Richard said with a small laugh. "He's ten years older than her. Fresh out of med school when they met. He married her once she turned eighteen, although I'm sure he would've done it sooner if it had been legal."

"And your father didn't object to that?" Monk asked, surprised that someone as seemingly disagreeable as Mitchell Vernon would allow her daughter to carry on with her psychiatrist like that.

"Dad loved Michael. Not sure why. I mean, he's a nice enough guy, but I never really liked the fact that he and Kathy got married. Didn't seem right to me."

"Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Vernon," Monk said. He stood, thinking he should talk to Michael Shaw again. "If we have any more questions, we'll call you."

"Sure, whatever," Richard said. He followed them as they headed for the door. "See ya around."

Monk and Disher left the apartment and walked to their car. Disher got in the driver's side and waited for Monk to get in before starting the ignition.

"So, did we learn anything in there?" he asked sharply. He knew Monk didn't believe Sharona was the killer. He resented it.

"A little something," he replied. "I want to talk to Michael Shaw again."

Disher said nothing as he put the car in drive and headed for the Shaw's home.

* * *

The rumble of voices filled the room as Sharona sat in the metal folding chair. She looked through the glass at her sister and son. They all picked up a phone receiver. Sharona then noticed in addition to his black eye, Benjy now had a fat lip.

"What happened to your lip?" she asked immediately. Benjy looked down without a word. "Benjy."

"I got into a fight with Jason Hodges," he admitted.

"Benjamin Fleming, if this glass wasn't here…" Sharona said angrily. She stopped herself and tried to calm down. "This was your first day back at school."

"I know, I'm sorry, mom," he said, finally making eye contact with you, pleading for forgiveness. "He was saying bad things about you. I couldn't let him get away with it."

"Bad things? What kinds of things?" Sharona asked, still angry but now curious.

"Like you go around killing patients at the hospital, and that you like to kill people," Benjy explained.

She shook her head and sighed. She knew this was coming. "Listen, kiddo," she said, lightening up a little. "While this is going on, people are going to say things that you're not going to like. It doesn't mean they're true. You need to ignore them. You can't fight everybody who says bad things about me. Got it?"

He nodded his head. Then Gail began to speak. "He got a five day suspension. I was actually there when it started and managed to break it up with the help of Jason Hodges' mom. The principal wanted to expel Benjy considering the fight the other day, but I talked her out of it because Jason started the fight. Jason's mom actually helped with that too."

"Good," Sharona said. "Now, what about bail?"

"I'm sorry," Gail said. "We tried, but we just didn't have enough for collateral. I even tried calling on another favor."

"That's okay. Thanks for trying," Sharona said. "Speaking of favors, thanks for getting that lawyer. I don't know if I could trust someone who was assigned to me by the court. I really owe you."

"Hey, I wasn't about to let you rot in jail while some court-appointed flunkie sat back and let you get convicted," Gail said. "How are you holding up in there?"

"Okay, I guess. I've been keeping to myself and nobody's bothered me yet," she replied. "Hopefully it stays that way."

"Um, I actually need to pass a message on to you…from your work," Gail said hesitantly.

"Oh god, here we go," Sharona said. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her right hand. "I'm fired, right?"

"Dr. Parchman said he fought for you, but the board of directors voted unanimously," she explained. "They said this case was generating too much bad publicity."

"I haven't even been convicted yet," Sharona said sharply. "How can they do this to me?"

"I don't know. Max is actually fighting it, but he's obviously concentrating more on the murder thing first."

Sharona suddenly realized that her eyes were starting to fill with tears. She wiped at them and sniffed. The frustration was certainly getting to her. She had to get out of this, and it had to happen soon.

"It's going to be okay, Sharona," Gail said, noticing how upset her older sister was.

"Everybody keeps saying that, but I'm not so sure if I believe it," she said quietly. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

"What if I talked to the police and told them you couldn't do this?" Benjy asked. Sharona's heart melted, knowing that he had all the best intentions, even though it certainly wouldn't work.

"Don't talk to the police Benjy," she instructed. "They don't believe me. It's up to the court now."

"Fleming, time's up," a guard called. She glanced over her shoulder and then looked back to Benjy and Gail.

"We'll come by tomorrow," Gail said. "Hang in there."

"I love you, mom," Benjy said quickly as Sharona stood. The guard was there to escort her away.

"I love you, too, kiddo," she said. She put the receiver back in its place as the guard led her away. She couldn't help a few stray tears from escaping down her cheeks as Benjy and Gail were out of sight.


	5. Five

Monk looked over the evidence report as they drove to the Shaw's home. He had only glanced briefly at it once, having relied on Disher reading it before they picked up Sharona. He had berated himself for not reading it sooner. Disher was a good cop, but he wasn't the most thorough sometimes. There was a reason the two of them were partnered together.

"Water," he said, looking at the information about the syringe. Disher glanced over, an expression of confusion spreading across his face.

"What?"

"There were traces of water in the syringe," Monk said. "How did it get there?"

"Maybe she rinsed it out," Disher suggested.

"Why would she do that?"

Disher didn't respond as he parked in front of the Walsh's home. They walked up to the door together. Monk noticed the workers were gone. He assumed they were on a lunch break. Disher rang the doorbell and Michael Shaw opened the door.

"Mr. Shaw, this is my partner, Inspector Disher," Monk said. "We have a few more questions."

"Kathy's not here," he said.

"Actually, our questions are for you," Monk said. "Can we come in?"

Michael stepped aside and followed Monk and Disher to the living room. He sat on the sofa, Disher sat in an armchair and Monk remained standing, pacing near the fireplace.

"Why didn't you tell me how your wife became a deaf-mute?" Monk asked. Michael said nothing.

"Her brother told us what happened when she was sixteen," Disher said, prompting Michael.

"I didn't think it was relevant," he replied. "And I couldn't bring it up around Kathy."

"From what your brother-in-law said, it sounds like that was quite the turning point with her and her father," Monk said. He straightened a framed, eight-by-ten photograph of Michael and Kathleen on the mantel. "And for her and you."

"I know what you're thinking," Michael said. "What kind of ethics is it be married to one of my own patients? Believe me, I have always been completely objective with Kathy's treatment.  And she stopped needing official sessions when she was seventeen. We just kept in touch, and sort of dated. When she turned eighteen I asked her to marry me."

"And what about her father? Why the sudden change in their relationship?" Monk asked as he pushed a candlestick back an inch on the mantel.

"To be perfectly honest, Kathy nearly died and it scared the crap out of Mitch," Michael said.  "Mitch wasn't the most agreeable man, but after the attack he did everything he could to be the best father he could be for her."

"And how much does she remember about the attack?" Disher asked.

"Nothing. We've never figured out whether it's repression or brain damage, but Kathy doesn't remember anything before the time she woke up in the hospital," Michael explained. "That's the main reason her attacker was never arrested."

Monk took note of every word Michael said to think about later. The word 'arrested' stuck out in his mind for some reason.  "So all she knows is what you've told her."

"Yes," Michael answered. "I still don't understand what this has to do with Mitch's murder. You arrested that nurse."

"We did," Monk affirmed.  He stepped away from the mantel and started to head for the door. Disher stood. "Thank you for your time again, Mr. Shaw."

As Disher and Monk walked out the door, Disher just watched his partner. The short conversation had provided more "Monk evidence." What the evidence was, Disher didn't have a clue.

"He knows who attacked his wife," Monk said, finally giving Disher some clue as to where this was going.

"What makes you think that?"

"He just said that Kathleen's memory loss was the main reason her attacker was never arrested," Monk explained. "He said arrested. Most people would say caught."  
"I don't get it," Disher said. They both got into the car. Disher waited for an explanation before starting the ignition.

"The only reason her attacker wasn't arrested is because the eye-witness couldn't remember who it was," Monk said. "But everybody knew who it was."

"Who was it?" Disher asked.

"I'm not sure, but I have a pretty good idea," Monk said. "Let's go back to the station."

* * *

Captain Stottlemeyer emerged from his office and stopped in front of Monk's desk, but his star inspector didn't look up from the file he was looking through.

"Monk, would you mind explaining to me why you're looking up twenty-year-old rape cases?" he asked. Disher watched from his desk nearby. He was looking at another file that Monk felt was related to Kathleen Shaw's rape. The more he looked through it, the more he agreed with Monk about Sharona's innocence.

"Kathleen Shaw was raped and severely beaten when she was sixteen," Monk began. "It caused major memory loss, and it also caused her to become a deaf-mute."

"And what does this have to do with Mitchell Vernon?"

Disher took over the explanation, handing a police report to Stottlemeyer. "Mitchell Vernon's wife came to the police several times to report domestic abuse, but eventually every time she would change her mind. She would say she fell or she ran into a door. The same was the case for Kathleen."

"Richard Vernon was the only one who stuck to the story of abuse, but the police never believed him," Monk continued. "But when Kathleen was sixteen, Mitchell Vernon was the one to bring Kathleen into the hospital. He claimed he found her a block away from their home. He didn't call an ambulance or the police when he found her. He took her from the scene to the hospital on his own."

"No evidence of an attack was found where Vernon claims he found her," Disher added. "With past reports, the inspectors on the rape case suspected Vernon, but there was absolutely no evidence to get a warrant."

"What about Richard Vernon? What did he say this time?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"He was at a football game that night at the highschool," Disher replied. "But he told police that he believed his father did it. Although when we talked to him today, he didn't mention it."

"He was concealing a motive," Monk said.

"Maybe you two should bring him in to the station for some further questioning," Stottlemeyer said. Disher stood and put his suit jacket back on.

"What about Fleming?" Monk asked.

"The DA won't drop the charges against her until we get some concrete evidence proving someone else did it," Stottlemeyer replied. "So, why don't you get some of that?"

* * *

Richard Vernon opened the door of his apartment and was confused. "What are you doing here?"

"You talk too much, Richard," Michael said. He walked in the door, his hands in his pockets. "Why did you tell the police about Kathy's attack?"

"They were asking questions about her and dad," he said. "What was I supposed to tell them?"

"Oh, I don't know," Michael replied. "How about a lie? They'll figure out that Mitch was the main suspect in the attack, and then that will lead to motive for either one of us."

"Hey, I was just the man with the plan," Richard said, turning his back on Michael. "If they're led back to anyone, it'll be you. I'm not going down for this."

"Yes, you are," Michael said. He took his hands out of his pockets to reveal they were in latex gloves. He quickly moved forward and wrapped his arms around Richard's neck, putting him in a sleeper hold.

Richard struggled with Michael, pushing backward until they slammed into the door to the apartment. He elbowed Michael in the stomach, but there wasn't enough force to get him to release his hold. Then Michael tripped Richard, forcing him to the floor. Finally, Richard lost consciousness. Michael flipped him over on his back. He pulled a small medicine bottle and a syringe out of his coat pocket. Quickly he administered the injection to his unconscious brother-in-law. Then he made sure Richard's prints were on the syringe and bottle before setting them nearby on the floor and leaving the apartment.

* * *

Monk and Disher stood near the computer while the coroner and forensics did their jobs in Richard Vernon's apartment. The two inspectors were definitely surprised when they found him lying dead on his apartment floor. The coroner stood and approached them, holding evidence bags with the syringe and the medicine bottle.

"Appears to be a morphine overdose," he said. "Forensics got some prints off the syringe. Probably his. He hasn't been dead long."

Disher took the evidence bags and looked at the contents. Monk shook his head. "He didn't do this to himself."

Monk looked at some of the things on the desk. There was a stack of notebooks and binders on a shelf. He put on some gloves and took them down. At the bottom of the stack was a photo album, which Monk began to flip through. There was a picture of Kathleen and Michael near the back. He suddenly had an idea and pulled the picture out of the album.

"Randy, question the neighbors," he said. He pointed to the album. "See if you can find another picture of Michael Shaw in there. I've got an idea."

"What is it?" Disher asked, taking the album from Monk. But he didn't respond as he quickly left the apartment. Disher sighed and started looking through the album for another picture of Michael Shaw.


	6. Six

A/N: Just want to apologize for taking forever and a day to update this. I got occupied by another fandom, and with the lack of new episodes that kind of led to a lack of inspiration for me. But I finally finished. Here's the final chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Sharona rolled her eyes when a guard led her into an interrogation room and she saw Monk there. The guard uncuffed her, shut the door and locked it.

"So, what do you want now?" she asked in annoyance. "Ever since I met you I've been arrested for murder, my kid's getting into fights at school and I've been fired. Oh, and I just found out that my landlord is trying to evict me. Did you come to tell me my grandmother's dead?"

"I came to apologize," Monk said. "We were wrong, and I'm sorry."

She was definitely taken aback. That wasn't what she was expecting him to say. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you didn't kill Mitchell Vernon," he replied.

"Then why am I still here?" Sharona asked, gesturing around the room. She sat down at the table.

"We don't have any proof yet," Monk said. He sat at the table across from her. "The DA wants more proof before he'll drop the charges against you. Which is also why I'm here." Monk pulled out the picture of Kathleen and Michael Shaw. "Do you recognize this man at all?"

Sharona took the picture and stared at the man for nearly two minutes. Then it hit her and she looked up. "That's the orderly that I saw coming from Mr. Vernon's room that morning. Who is he?"

"He's no orderly," Monk replied. "He's Dr. Michael Shaw. Mr. Vernon's son-in-law."

"Michael Shaw? He's a psychiatrist. I read one of his papers when I was in school," Sharona said in disbelief. "Do you think he did this?"

Monk nodded his head. "And you identifying him takes me one step closer to proving that." Monk looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. "What time does the other nurse on your shift start?"

"Same time. Nine o'clock," she replied. "I don't know if she saw him or not."

"Well, I'll have to ask her," Monk said. He stood, went over to the door and knocked on it. They could hear the lock clicking and then the door opened. Before he left Monk turned back to Sharona. "I'll get you out of here."

She offered a small smile and nodded her head as the guard cuffed her wrists. Monk left, determined to do just as he said.

* * *

After stopping for a late dinner with Trudy, Monk picked Disher up at the station and headed for the hospital. It was a little after nine when they arrived, flashing their badges for the outside security camera and signing the guest sheet. They headed up to the second floor.

"A lady that lives across from Richard Vernon's building says she saw Michael Shaw leaving just shortly before Vernon died."

"I figured as much," Monk said. They found Whitney at the nurses' station. When she saw Disher, her eyes narrowed.

"You again," she said.

"We need to ask you some more questions," Disher said.

"What? Did you not get enough evidence to keep Sharona in jail?" she walked around and started pushing a cart down the hall. "You got questions, we'll have to walk and talk. I have to make my rounds."

"Sharona mentioned that she saw a new orderly coming out of Mr. Vernon's room at about 5:30 the morning that he was murdered," Monk said. He pulled out the picture of the Shaws. "Do you recognize the man in this picture?"

Whitney paused and looked at it for a moment. "Yeah, I saw that orderly that morning. He was leaving the floor right after I finished my rounds." She looked at the picture again and her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. That guy's not an orderly. He's a psychiatrist. Dr. Shaw. He consults on psych cases sometimes."

"You know him?" Disher asked. Whitney shrugged her shoulders.

"I met him when I was down in the ER," she said. "Didn't really have a chance to talk to him. Why would he be up here pretending to be an orderly?"

"That's a good question," Disher said with a smile. He saw Monk shared that smile. They both knew the answer to the question. They followed Whitney into a patient's room. She pulled a package out and opened it, revealing a syringe. Monk grabbed her arm.

"You just took that syringe out of a package," he said. She looked at him in confusion.

"Yeah, I always do," she said.

"You use a new syringe every time? Even if it's for the same patient?" he continued.

"Sure," she replied, continuing about her work. "It's policy. We never use the same needle twice. It's almost an unconscious habit. I've never even thought of reusing a needle."

"Come on, Randy," Monk said, taking his partner's arm. "We've got everything we need. Thank you, Ms. Harmon. I promise you'll see Sharona back soon."

Monk led Disher out of the room before anybody could say another word. On the way out, Monk made sure to get a copy of the security sign in lists for the week from the desk.

* * *

It took a couple hours, but Monk and Disher were able to get a warrant. So when they showed up at the Shaws' home, it wasn't a surprise that Michael was in his pajamas.

"Now what do you people want? My father-in-law is dead," he said angrily. "I'm getting sick of your harrassment."

"Your brother-in-law is dead, too," Monk said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Richard's dead? What happened?" he asked, apparently shocked by this news. Kathleen walked up behind him and he turned to tell her, signing as he spoke. "Honey, they just said Richard's dead."

"What?" she asked, her eyes wide as she signed. She turned to Monk and Disher. "What's going on?"

"Mrs. Shaw, we have warrants for the arrest of your husband for the murders of your father and brother, and also a warrant to search your home," Monk said.

Disher pulled out his cuffs. "Mr. Shaw, you have the right to remain silent."

"What the hell? I'm not going anywhere with you," Shaw said, backing away.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," Disher continued. "You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed by the courts. Do you understand the rights I've just given you?" He reached for Michael's wrists again, and he pulled away again.

"I understand my damn rights. What I don't understand is why you're trying to arrest me," he said. "I didn't kill anybody."

"You did, Dr. Shaw," Monk said. "And you did a pretty good job of it. You had us fooled for a little while there. But you made a couple mistakes, especially when you killed Richard."

"It was his idea to kill Mitchell, right?" Disher asked. "That's why you had to kill Richard. You got nervous that he would talk. He had already told us about how exactly you met your wife."

"But there was never any proof that Mitchell was the one who attacked her," Monk said. "So you made your own justice."

"Honey, what are they talking about?" Kathleen asked.

"They don't know what they're talking about," Michael said and signed.

"Don't we?" Monk asked. "You consult at the hospital. That's how you got in after visiting hours. Only hospital staff is allowed in after visiting hours. And even then you have to sign in. You signed in under your own name and then went up to the second floor, posing as an orderly. You didn't do a good job of avoiding witnesses."

"Sharona Fleming saw you leaving Mitchell's room," Disher added. Michael laughed.

"She's your eye-witness? She's in jail! Of course she's going to point the finger at me or whoever else she can."

"The other night nurse saw you leaving the floor that morning," Disher added.

"We couldn't figure out how Sharona's prints got on the syringe used to kill Mitchell. That had me stumped until I read the lab report and saw a nurse use a syringe tonight," Monk said. "The syringe had traces of water and morphine in it. With the water in it, we just assumed she rinsed a syringe she had already used. It didn't really make sense. Then I saw a nurse open a package with a brand new syringe in it. They use a new syringe every time. It's procedure…and habit."

"She was murdering somebody. She's not going to follow hospital procedure," Michael scoffed.

Monk ignored him. "You needed to frame somebody for Mitchell's murder. So you took a syringe out of the medical waste and rinsed it out. Then you filled the syringe with morphine and murdered your father-in-law. You went to medical school. You know how to find a vein."

"What's my motive?" Michael asked.

"Vigilante justice. Nobody was arrested for raping Kathleen because she couldn't remember who attacked her, and there was no evidence. There was no evidence because Mitchell Vernon attacked her in their own home and then cleaned it up before the police could find anything," Disher said.

Michael looked at Kathleen who was staring at him in shock. Her eyes were welling with tears.

"Honey," he said, stepping forward. She backed away and Disher took the opportunity to pull Michael's arms behind his back, cuffing them. "Mitch nearly killed you. He couldn't get away with it." She signed something and he shook his head. "No, our marriage wasn't a lie. I did this because I love you."

"Some people buy their wives flowers or jewelry, Dr. Shaw," Monk said. Disher pulled Michael toward the door. Monk turned to Kathleen as Michael was escorted out of the house. Tears were running down her face. "I'm sorry. Is there somebody I can call for you?"

She shook her head. Monk didn't know what else to do. He followed Disher out of the house as uniformed officers showed up to search the house of their murderer.

* * *

Sharona squinted in the sunlight as she stepped out of the police station, thankfully wearing her own clothes. She had just been released from prison, all charges dropped. Now she hoped she could get the mess this all caused cleaned up and get her life back to normal.

"Mom!" Benjy yelled as he ran over to her. She stumbled backward when he wrapped his arms around her in a big bear hug. Gail smiled as she walked over.

"Hey kiddo," Sharona said, returning her son's hug. "I'm happy to see you, too."

Benjy stepped back a little and smiled sheepishly. Then Gail spoke up.

"Max said he wanted to come, but he had to be in court," she said.

"Is he working on all the stuff with my job and my landlord?" Sharona asked. Those two things together scared her. Being jobless and homeless as a single mother wasn't something she felt she could handle.

"That's the weird thing. He called Dr. Parchman and Mr. Troubido," Gail said. "All Dr. Parchman said was that he looked forward to seeing you tonight, and Mr. Troubido said he would never evict one of his best tenants. Apparently somebody already called them."

"Who?" Sharona asked.

"Me."

They looked over when they heard his voice. Monk was walking toward them, with Disher a few steps behind him.

"I felt bad about what happened, and if I had listened to my instincts we never would have put you in jail in the first place," he said. "It was the least I could do."

"Thanks," Sharona said, confused by Monk's actions. "So I really have my job back?"

"I made sure that Dr. Parchman and the hospital's board of directors understood that you had nothing to do with the murder and that we had made a mistake," Monk said.

"I still can't believe Dr. Shaw did it," she said. "Kind of ironic."

"How so?" Disher asked.

"A psychiatrist going psycho," she said with a smirk. Everyone chuckled lightly. After an awkward pause, Sharona decided to break the silence. "Well, I guess we'll head home. I think I'm going to take a really long bath. Thanks again, Inspector Monk."

"You're welcome," he said with a smile. Sharona took her car keys from Gail and they headed over to the car. Monk and Disher started to return to their car.

"Oh, and Disher," she called as she opened her car door. Disher turned back. "You actually do play a pretty good 'bad cop.'"

She laughed, got in the car and drove away, with Benjy waving to the inspectors from the back seat. Disher looked to Monk inquisitively. "Do you think she'd go out with me?"

"What?" Monk asked with a shocked laugh. He turned and walked back to the car.

"Well, do you?" Disher asked again, jogging to catch up.

Monk laughed again. "You're out of your mind."

"_You _are saying _I_ am out of my mind? Look who's talking," Disher said, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

"Okay, so we're both out of our minds," Monk said as they got into the car.

"Know a good shrink?" Disher asked.

"Yeah," Monk said with a smirk. "But he's in jail."

THE END


End file.
